


Dead Benediction

by BattleAngel



Category: Daredevil (TV), Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Awesome Pepper Potts, BAMF Peter Parker, Dead Tony Stark, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Oops, Peter Parker Acts Like a Spider, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Mess, Protective Peter Parker, Team Red, Temporary Character Death, and accidentally parents Morgan, and legitimately works at stark industries, spiderman is more involved in the general vigilante population
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:20:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27181027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BattleAngel/pseuds/BattleAngel
Summary: Peter Parker should have turned to dust on Titan. That's how things should have gone.But instead, Iron Man crumbled away, ash falling through sixteen-year-old Spider-Man's gasping, desperate sobs.When Peter has his feet on solid ground again, there are new responsibilities. Spider-Man needs to work with NYC's vigilantes, the ones left, anyway, to keep New York from falling into anarchy.Peter Parker has been given charge of Tony's legacy, Stark Industries. Sure, there are a million other qualified people, but SI can only last so long without revolutionary innovations coming out of R&D, and apparently Tony thought Peter could fill those shoes.Luckily, Peter's got help. Enter Team Red and Pepper Potts.Observe the ensuing chaos.
Relationships: Matt Murdock & Peter Parker & Wade Wilson, Peter Parker & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Peter Parker & Pepper Potts
Comments: 14
Kudos: 150





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've read a couple stories like this and wanted to try my hand, so here I am. I've got a pretty erratic update schedule. This is Tom Holland's Spiderman, with a few changes, namely that he's actually working at SI, started spidermanning younger, has active connections to NYC's vigilantes, even though they're not super close yet, and is generally more competent. He has a kinda causal parenting relationship with tony/pepper, but none of the mentoring stuff like what happened in homecoming. I won't really touch on the origin story much. 
> 
> is teen for language because in this household we stan peter parker not only being precious but also exasperated and therefore allowed to say bad words, thank you.

Peter Parker’s head lolled back against the Milano’s metal bulwark. He hissed at the sudden impact, and rubbed a hand through his greasy hair.

“Shit,” he rasped. “Nebula, do you know where the-”

“Terran, you have been at it for an hour and the fuel cells are still leaking,” a metallic voice called from the cockpit. “Stand and face your imminent death like a man.”

Peter’s cracked lips parted in an exasperated smile. “Or I could continue my pointless optimism instead of staring off into the stars brooding,” he offered dryly.

“I am not  _ brooding _ ,” Nebula grumbled. “I’m  _ planning retribution. _ ”

“ _ Or  _ you could hand me that welder and I’ll see if I can shore this up well enough to give you a couple more days of power to do that.”

“Ridiculous,” she sneered, but clanked down the hall to drop the tool in his open hand anyway. 

“Thanks, Tony,” he replies absentmindedly, then freezes.

_ Tony, Tony please don’t go, I’m sorry- _

Peter’s free hand clenched, and he snapped his eyes shut to stop the onslaught of memories. It would do none of them any good to reminisce over the events on Titan. Not now, anyway. After the fuel cells were patched Peter would allow himself a short mental breakdown in his bunk, but then he’d flip the switch back.

Nebula’d seen more shit than him, and she wasn’t complaining, was she? No.

_ Keep it together, Parker. Death isn’t inescapable just yet. _

* * *

The worst of it is the hunger. Peter’s gone hungry before, of course, but that was before his spider-metabolism was up and making a nuisance of itself. His cheekbones are prominent, and his wrists thin enough for him to get a spindly thumb and forefinger around them easy. 

He can almost feel his bones grinding together when he moves, the tissue that is supposed to insulate his joints being sucked up so his enhanced muscles don’t waste away into nothing.

The way the mutation cannibalizes his own little baby fat pools to keep his motor muscles above average is grotesque, he knows. His face and ribs paint a picture of starvation, but his biceps are still rock-hard and denser by the day.

He wonders what other flesh the spider genes will deem unnecessary in their upkeep of his combat capabilities. 

Will he go mad, at the end? Instincts eating away at higher thought functions and leaving nothing but a predator in a person-skin left?

_ It’d be a shame if Nebula ended up dead if I went on a rampage, _ he thinks idly.  _ She’s too much metal. No good to eat. _

He shakes himself out of that train of thought  _ real _ fast. 

* * *

“We’re going to die here,” Peter said glumly. “Nebula, my optimism has been eaten all up, and I have decided to accept my fate rather than try and chew on the seat leather. That was the last of the water, our ship is dead in the middle of a vacuum,” his head flopped back, joints popping like firecrackers. “And I’m  _ hungry, _ ” he whined.

Nebula looked back at him from her perch in the Captain’s chair, and gave him a narrow-eyed stare.

“You’re just figuring this out now?” she asked. 

Peter’s eyes drifted to her, a little wild edged to them. “No, I think I’ve always known I’d die young. But this isn’t really the scenario I imagined.”

“Oh?” Nebula sat up, looking a little more interested. “How did you think you’d die?”

“A blaze of glory, man,” Peter said. “Or shot dead in an alley. A lot of the shit in my life happens in alleys.”

“What did you get up to in alleyways, Terran?”

“Nothing scandalous, like you’re probably thinking. I- well,” he laughs, a little self-deprecating giggle. “I used to save people. Used to put on my very own Kevlar superhero suit and stop muggings, shootouts, runaway trains, you name it,” he smiles, nostalgic. “Nights on weekends I went after the mob. Organized crime’s such a bitch, man. Had little team-ups with Daredevil, every now and then, and we’d hunt down arms dealers and such. Great bonding experience, actually. 

“And there’s this crazy merc, Deadpool, who hates traffickers like you wouldn’t believe, so in my free time we’d get together and break up sex rings. He kills, which I don’t do, and he and I have different opinions on who exactly qualifies as stompable scum, but traffickers make both our lists so those nights we kinda just... don’t hold back. It’s always a bloodbath, and people get brought in with shattered kneecaps instead of just restrained, but police kinda have this unspoken agreement not to look too closely at that, anyway.”

Nebula blinks. 

“I… see,” she says slowly. “I was of the understanding that you were regarded as a child by your teammates?”

Peter huffed, lank brown curls falling over his eyes. “Yeah, they kinda do- did.” he swallowed a little hiccuping sob and blinked harshly. “They  _ did. _ ”

She turns away, giving him a moment to collect himself. 

“I’m younger than them all, that’s why,” he said softly. “Tony found me Spidermanning when I was only thirteen, and when he found out I’d built my own equipment, he kinda took me in. I interned for him, personally and around the building, and he helped me out of a couple tight spots in my vigilante ways, kept an eye on me. If I got shot or something,” he said, a wobble coming into his rasp, “I could swing by the Tower and he’d help me patch it up.” Peter smiled a little, split lips cracking open again. “And now I’m sixteen and I work all over the building, helping out wherever I can, answering only to Tony and Pepper. Sometimes I’d stay the night, and we’d watch a movie together or something. It was…

“It was almost like having parents. Rich, slightly distant parents. My Aunt May’s the best, of course, but she works so hard and so often that I find myself alone more than I do with her. Supporting people on a nurse’s salary in New York isn’t easy. I try to be easy for her, and my job at SI brings in money, a little, but she…”

He trails off. Nebula nods solemnly, and turns back to look out the glass dome that juts out of the ship and displays the stars.

“Thanos was my father,” she whispers jerkily. “And I had a sister. Her name was Gamora. We didn’t really get along. I made up with her in the end.”

Peter’s throat bobs. “Is she dead?”

“Yes,” Nebula replies quietly. “Yes, she’s dead.”

They sit in silence for what might have been years, for all Peter’s sense of time knew. 

“I need to tell you something,” his voice shatters the silence. “I… I’m not completely human. You know that. But since I got my abilities, I’ve never actually been actively starved.” 

He swallowed. “I don’t… I’ve got instincts. They’re buried, but they’re there. If I start acting really…  _ off, _ you’ll need to-” he stops again, and closes his eyes. “I don’t want to live like that,” he whispers roughly. “Don’t want to spend my last minutes feral and trying to, well, eat you, probably. One of the crewmates has a blaster collection. I put one on the cabinet before, and it’s got a couple charges. I want you to put it somewhere only you’ll be able to get to, and if I…”

He looks up at her, tears welling in his eyes. 

“I don’t want that on my conscience. And I know it’s despicable of me to ask you to do something you might not be comfortable with. But, please, if the past three weeks have meant anything... “

He opens and closes his mouth, trying to find the right words for what she knows he’s asking.

She puts a hand on his shoulder and he shrinks in on himself, knobbly knees tucked up into his chest and shoulders hunched, shaking.

“I’m scared,” he breathes. “And I don’t want to die a monster. Promise me, please, promise me that if I-” 

She squeezes his shoulder, and his mouth snaps closed. His hands are shaking, his doe eyes are clenched tightly shut and tears escape them to trail down his sweaty, gaunt cheeks.

“I promise,” she says quietly.

He nods, shivering, and she leads him back to his bunk to get some rest.

She hides the blaster.

* * *

When he wakes, eyes grimy with sleep, the first thing his eyes land on is the Ironman helmet that he had stumbled onto the ship with, after the dustings left him shell-shocked and reeling.

_ Tony, Tony please don’t go, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it should be me, Tony I’m sorry, please- _

Peter shakes his head to clear the cobwebs from it, runs thin fingers through greasy hair and sits up, reaching out to pick up the helmet and cradle it in his lap, hunching his whole stick figure around it as his hands begin to shake uncontrollably. A low, pitiful moan rises in his chest as he curls around the last remnant of his most recent father figure.

_ Fucking Parker curse, putting the ‘e’ in ‘Dad’ for the last millennia. _

After a good sadness session, Peter unwraps himself from the helmet and stops to think.

_ Does the helmet have any remaining functions?  _ he wonders.  _ Could I… _

He sticks his hand up in it and starts rooting around for the circuit that would have connected to the Blackbox Protocol, Tony’s suit records that are supposed to back up to Friday and store original copies of the footage, in case of a system failure. 

“It should be right… here!” he shouts with joy, springing up and momentarily forgetting his joints screaming in pain. He sways for a moment, the room spinning, but stabilizes and rushes out to yell, “Nebula!  _ Nebula! _ ” 

She comes banging down the corridor, eyes wide in alarm as he dances dizzily down the hall, helmet held out like a trophy, like some sort of offering. 

“I have an  _ idea! _ ” he yells jubilantly. “I haven’t had one of those in  _ forever! _ ” he staggers up, eyes wide with feverish glee. “Do you know what this means?!” he cries, cracked lips stretched in an insane grin. “Do you, do you, do you?!”

She stares blankly. “No…” she replies, slowly.

“It  _ means _ that if I can hook this up to some jury-rigged circuits out of the ship’s display computers we can make a blackbox recording on here so that when someone eventually finds our rotting corpses they’ll have some sort of idea of what the hell happened!” he throws up his hands, helmet nearly smacking her in the nose. “Isn’t that  _ fantastic?! _ ”

He grins at her, eyes wild and bloodshot.

She stares. 

_ He’s losing it, _ she thinks.  _ It won’t be long now.  _ She finds herself saddened by the thought.

“Yes, Terran,” she says. “That is good. Can you do it, or will you require assistance?”

“Nope, I got it. Peter Parker, alien computer bitsies parts-jacker extraordinaire, that’s me, me, me!” he giggles.

Nebula pales. “Alright then,” she whispers, and Peter skips past her, down to the ship’s databanks, happy laughter trailing behind him.

Nebula sinks to the floor.

* * *

The next day, Peter is listless. He drifts through the halls like a lost child, yesterday’s spree of manic energy forgotten. After about an hour of roaming his bones ache, so he curls up into Nebula’s side and she lets him sleepily babble at her about particle physics. The helmet is abandoned by the server banks, and when Peter finally drifts off Nebula untangles him from her and goes down to inspect his wiring job.

He’s done well, but she’s tightening a few cables when he ghosts through the door and latches back onto her body heat. He hums contentedly as she gently cards metallic fingers through his greasy hair, scratching at his scalp is a way that makes a deep, rumbling purr rise in his chest.

It’s something he explained to her that happens sometimes, when he feels especially safe and content. A spider thing, he called it sheepishly, and she’d elected to refrain from further comment.

“Will it work?” she asks softly, and he hums in response. 

“Yes, I think so. But I’m so tired,” he rasps sadly. “I didn’t know if I could stand putting on a show.”

“So don’t,” she replies, baffled. “What do you want to say?”

“I want to tell Pepper what happened,” he whispers. “And I wanted to tell May that I loved her.”

“Oh,” she says. There’s not much else to say. “How do you turn it on?” she asks.

“Just this switch… here,” and the helmet’s blue eye-lights flicker on. “We’re recording now,” he says slowly. “I guess I could go ahead and say my bit, just in case I die before I get the chance,” he jokes.

It doesn’t feel like a joke.

They both know there’s only about twelve hours of oxygen left.

Nebula’s started keeping one hand on the blaster under her pillow while she sleeps. She’ll be damned if she fails Peter Parker in the only thing he’s asked of her.

“Hey Pepper,” she hears, and turns her attention back to the grotesque waif of a child who’s still tucked under her arm. “I’m- god, I promised myself I wouldn’t fucking cry, sorry Pep- Christ, I’m  _ so sorry… _ ” he takes a shuddering breath, and she tugs him a little closer. “Tony’s dead,” he says bluntly. “He- he turned to ashes in my arms, Pepper. I’m so sorry. It should have been me.” 

His eyes are sharp, clear for the first time in days, and he straightens a little. 

“We lost. Thanos got the Time Stone and then he did some crazy teleport-gate-thing to leave us stranded. A few minutes after that, people started dusting. If anyone back on Earth knew a Doctor Strange, he’s gone too.”

His tone is harsh, and Nebula is suddenly reminded that while this child may be young, he is a fighter, most likely a killer.

“Tony loved you so, so much, Pepper, and he fought so well. In the end, there was nothing he could have done. I’m sorry I couldn’t- couldn’t bring him home to you. Please-” he stops, collects himself, continues. “Please tell May that I love her, and I’m sorry I left her. I swear I tried my best, May, I know I promised I wouldn’t leave you, but I had to. I’m sorry. Love you. That’s- that’s it, I think. I’m going to die, I know it, but I’m still sorry.”

He smiles, the movement small and trembling. Tears well in his amber doe-eyes.

“Thank you- for everything.”

Then he reaches forward, and switches the recording off.

He slumps back, suddenly drained, and Nebula catches him to cradle him gently. 

“You have done well, Peter Parker,” she says softly. He lets out a rough huff of air, and turns over, pawing at her hands with a little whine building in his throat. “Come,” she says, standing, letting him pull himself up by her arm. “Let’s go watch the stars for a bit.”

One hour later, Carol Danvers arrives.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bet you all thought I was abandoning this but HA (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
> 
> I lived bitch

Pepper Potts stands on the tarmac with the remaining Avengers as the Milano touches down. Captain Danvers is overhead, but Pepper pays her no mind as the ship’s loading door creaks open, and out of the darkness the survivors will emerge. 

She can’t entertain any possibility that there won’t be survivors. Two survivors in particular.

_Peter and Tony please, God, Peter and Tony-_

But when two figures emerge and one is a blue-skinned woman who is practically carrying a horrifically emaciated Peter Parker, Pepper’s world comes crashing down around her. 

_Peter looks-_ **_dead_ ** _. Where’s Tony? He must- he must be just waiting- just beyond the door-_

And Pepper is frozen in place when Steve rushes forward to help Peter stand, _Spider-Man_ stand, but Peter jerks awake with a gasp and tips forward, toward _Pepper-_

She meets his panic-filled doe eyes and she knows, just like that, that-

_Tony isn’t coming home._

She cries no tears, when Peter barrels into her and clings and gasps for breath, when her arms move automatically to crush him into her chest, when he dry-sobs apologies and regrets and that awful self-hatred of his into her shoulder and she mechanically pets his hair, murmuring that it isn’t his fault.

She’s numb, as Peter goes limp against her, as the blue-skinned woman jumps forward to catch him and swings his too-light body up into a bridal carry, as she barks for someone to lead her to Medical, _now._

Peter is as pale as a corpse. But she just can’t find it in herself to move from her frozen place on the pavement. Rhodey walks up, takes her arm to gently guide her back inside, and she goes, moving jerkily with her arms cradled over her midsection, shoulders hunched, head bowed. But no tears.

That night, she screams and rages and curses the whole goddamn universe, but not a single tear tracks down her face. 

She just can’t cry.

She’ll need to be strong, for Peter and for the baby.

The _baby._

Pepper sinks to the floor.

_God fucking damn it all. I can’t do this alone. I-_ **_please._ **

The silence echoes.

* * *

The next morning, Pepper pads into the medical bay to see Peter Parker laid out in a hospital bed looking like death warmed over. 

He’s thin in places he shouldn’t be, with cheekbones fit to cut glass, eye sunken and face gaunt. His brown curls hung limply around his ears, greasy from weeks unwashed. 

He’s so pale, all the life leeched from his complexion, and if it wasn’t for the subtle surely of his chest rising and falling she could have sworn she was staring at a waxy-faced corpse.

She hears a rustle, and whips around to see the blue-skinned woman from earlier leaning against the wall across from Peter’s bed.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch your name,” Pepper says cautiously. The woman blinks.

“Nebula,” she says. “And you must be the famous Pepper I heard about.”

Pepper nods. “I am. You were on the ship with Peter, weren’t you?”

Nebula tips her head in confirmation. 

“Thank you for taking care of him,” Pepper says, smiling a little, eyes glassy. “I’m glad he had someone to be with.”

“Yes,” Nebula said, squinting. “You seem to care for him, so this may be redundant, but if you hurt him I will slowly and methodically tear all the skin from your flesh, burn derogatory phrases into the raw meat that lies beneath, and subsequently leave you to slowly die in agony in the middle of the hottest desert your planet can boast. You have been warned.”

Pepper pales and takes a step back. “Duly noted,” she says, throat suddenly dry. 

Nebula nodded and crossed her arms.

“May,” she says suddenly. Pepper starts, a puzzled expression taking over her features for a second before her face clears and her brows furrow.

“Peter’s aunt?” she clarifies, and Nebula nods. “I don’t know where she is… it would probably be good for him to have her here when he wakes up. I’ll make some calls,” she says, already reaching for her phone. But before she turns to go, she goes to Peter’s bed and cards a gentle and through his lank hair. 

And then she’s off.

* * *

A few hours had gone by, and Peter hadn’t stirred beyond his easy breathing. But as voices start to rise in the conference room down the hall, Peter’s face twitches in his sleep. He lets out a little snuffling whine and curls over in on himself. Nebula is quick to rush to his side, and the Sad Spider-Child gravitates over to tuck himself into her side with a sleepy mumble.

Nebula is very suddenly reminded of the fact that Peter Parker, while undoubtedly a formidable warrior, is also rather adorable when he is not self-aware.

Nebula finds this amusing. 

But the conversation outside is quickly escalating into a shouting match, so it’s probably time to get moving. She poked him in the ribs and he grumbled in the back of his throat, but sat up a little, blinking sleepily up at her.

“Neb..la?” he asked, squinting around the room “Where…”

“You are home, Peter Parker,” she answered, a rare softness in her eyes. “What’s left of your team is speaking down the hall. You will join them. Come.” 

She rose fluidly up off the bed, and helped him up, making sure his IV pole was detached from the side of the bed and able to roll. He stood with a whine of pain, joints popping like firecrackers. He stumbled to the door to follow Nebula down the hall.

When they reached the ajar door to the conference room and peeked through the door, Peter saw who he supposed to be the last surviving Avengers. Gathered around a table were plenty of people, and when the door creaked open they all whipped around to stare at Peter hanging off of Nebula. Peter straightened up when he saw them all staring at him, squaring his bony shoulders and tipping up his chin, allowing his gaze to roam over the people grouped around the room.

“How are you feeling?” Steve broke the silence. 

“Well enough, for having accepted death as inevitable yesterday. What’s going on down here? Is there anything I can help with?”

“An account of how you ended up floating in space would be nice,” the Black Widow said mildly. Peter looked vaguely surprised. 

“You didn’t see the message yet?” he asked with a puzzled expression.

Everyone around the table pulled various expressions of discontent. 

“Yeah, I got the thing open,” a strange accent came from the corner of the room. Peter blinked, and slowly looked down.

“You are a raccoon,” he said slowly. The creature sneered, but Peter continued. “You are a- a talking raccoon. I don’t think I can handle that right now. I’ve just gotten back from space after being beaten by a gigantic purple nutsack man and my father figure crumbled to ashes right in front of me. I have taken up my allotted space in my head for weirdness, so I’m just going to pretend you are a very short person with an interesting skin condition and come back to the issue of the talking woodland animals later after I’ve had a short mental breakdown.”

Everyone in the room blinked.

“...right,” Rocket says. “Anyway, your recording wasn’t exactly as explicit about details as it could have been. I’d like to pick your brain so we can get an accurate event timeline.”

“Sure. Hey, uhm, does anyone have anything on my Aunt May? May Parker?”

Right on time, Pepper walked in, a datapad clutched in her white-knuckled hands. Peter turned to her, a hopeful smile on his face that quickly changed to horror when Pepper held the tablet out to him with red eyes. Glaring up from the screen was an accident report in Queens.

**_One victim, identified as May Parker, pronounced dead at the scene._ **

The tablet slipped from Peter’s nerveless fingers and clattered to the hardwood floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm planning on continuing this but I don't know when I'll be able to get the next chappie up, mostly cause classes are kinda kicking my ass right now. This is officially my Mental Health Fic, and imma do my best to have an update at least monthly, if not more.  
> If y'all have suggestions or pairing requests put them in the comments, I guess. I'm planning on keeping this gen except for background stuff like luke cage/claire temple, pepper/tony kinda stuff but if anyone can really pitch something I'm easily convinced.  
> But just for the rec, canonically Peter's literal entire acadec team was dusted, and since my whole AU is Peter being alive I'll probably resurrect at least one person, but Ned and MJ are staying Snapped, as it is my thinking that Peter can't really move forward as a vigilante/business shark if he's got a bff or a love interest.
> 
> aight thats it see yall


End file.
